Perfect Chemistry
by krazynutvidz
Summary: A story where two different people world's collide and everybody is against you guys dating. Even your family. Joe/Miley. Rated M for language and later chapters
1. Trailer

Okay you guys I'm basically writing the book just different characters and maybe change it up a little. I'm not trying to copy at all credit goes to the author of the book Simone Elkeles. I just admire your work and wanted to change the characters :)

This is the summary

At Fairfield High School, on the outskirts of Chicago, everyone knows that south siders and north siders aren't exactly compatible elements. So when head cheerleader Miley Cyrus and gang member Joe Jonas are forced to be lab partners in chemistry class, the results are bound to be explosive. But neither teen is prepared for the most surprising chemical reaction of all -- love. Can they break through the stereotypes and misconceptions that threaten to keep them apart?

Preview

"Miss Cyrus?" Mrs. Peterson says. "It's your turn. Introduce Joe to the class."

"This is Joseph Jonas. When he wasn't hanging out on street corners and harassing innocent people this summer, he toured the inside of jails around the city, if you know what I mean. His secret desire is to go to college and become a chemistry teacher, like you, Mrs. Peterson."

Miley flashes me a triumphant smile, thinking she's won this round. Guess again, gringa.

"This is Miley Cyrus," I say, all eyes now focused on me. "This summer she went to the mall, bought new clothes so she could expand her wardrobe, and spent her daddy's money on plastic surgery to enhance her, ahem, assets. Her secret desire is to date a Mexicano before she graduates."

Game on......

Find out in..... Perfect Chemistry


	2. Chapter 1

This might be pretty word for word just different characters but i might leave some info in the book out that you don't really need :) Enjoy chapter one

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_**Miley**_

Everyone knows I'm perfect. My life is perfect. My clothes are perfect. Even my family is perfect. And althought it's a complete lie, I try my absolute hardest to keep up the apperance that I have it all together. The truth would destroy my entire picture-perfect image.

Standing in front of my bathroom mirror I wipe away the third crooked line I've drawn beneath my eye. My hands are shaking, damn it. Starting senior year of high school and seeing my boyfriend after a summer apart shouldn't be so scary, but I've gotten off to a disastrous start. First, my curling iron sent up smoke signals and died. Then the button on my favorite shirt popped off. Now, my eyeliner decides it has a mind of its own. If I had any choice of the matter, I'd stay in my comfy bed.

"Miles, come down," I faintly here my mom yelling form the foyer.

At first I just want to ignor her, but that never gets me anything but arguments, headaches, and more yelling.

"It'll be there in a sec," I call down, hoping I can get this eyeliner to go on straight.

Finally getting it right, I toss the eyeliner tube on the counter, double and triple check myself in the mirror. I definately don't want to hear my mom bitch about my makeup today, so then i hurry down the hallway.

My mom is standing at the bottom of our staircase, scanning my outfit. I straighten. I know, I know. I'm eighteen and shouldn't care what my mom thinks. But you haven't lived in the Cyrus house. My mom has anxiety. And when my mom is stressed, everyon living with her suffers. I think that's why my dad goes to work before she gets up in the morning, so he doesn't have to deal with, well, her.

"Hate the pants, love the belt," Mom says.

"Good Morning to you, too, Mother," I say before walking down the stairs and giving her a peck on the cheek. Teh smell of my mom's strong perfume stings my nostrils the closer I get. She already looks like a million bucks in her Ralph Lauren Blue Label tennis dress. No one can point a finger and criticize her outfit, that's for sure.

"I bought your favorite muffin for the first day of school," Mom says, pulling out a bag from behind her back. "I knew you were going to want it this morning."

"No, thanks," I say, looking around for my sister. "Where's Demi?"

"In the kitchen."

"Is her new caretaker here yet?"

"Her name is Baghda, and no. She's coming in an hour"

"Did you tell her wool irritates Demi's skin? And that she pulls hair?" She's always let it be known in her nonverbal cues she gets irritated by the feeling of wool on her skin. Pulling hair is her new thing, and it has caused a few disasters. Disasters in my house are about as pretty as a car wreck, so avoiding them is crucial.

"Yes. And yes. I gave your sister an earful this morning, Miley. If she keeps acting up, we'll find ourselves out of another caretaker."

I walk into the kitchen, not wanting to hear my mother go on and on about her theories of why Demi lashes out. Demi is sitting at the table in her wheelchair, busily eating her specially blended food because, even at the age of twenty, my sister doesn't have the ability to chew and swallow like people without her physical limitations. As usual, the food has found its way onto her chin, lips, and cheeks.

"Hey, Dem-dems," I say, leaning over her and wiping her face with a napkin. It's the first day of school. Wish me luck."

Demi holds jerky arms out and gives me a lopsided smile. I love that smile.

"You want to give me a hug?" I ask her, knowing she does. The doctors always tell us the more interaction Demi gets, the better off she'll be.

Demi nods. I fold myself in her arms, careful to keep her hands away from my hair. When I straighten, my mom gasps. It sounds to me like a referee's whistle, halting my life. "Miles, you can't go to school like that."

"Like what?"

She shakes her ehad and sighs in frustration. "Look at your shirt."

Glancing down, I see a large wet spot on the front of my white Calvin Klein shirt. Oops. Demi's drool. One look at my sister's drawn face tells me what she can't easily put into words. _Demi is sorry. Demi didn't mean tot mess up my outfit._

"It's no biggie," I tell her, although in the back of my mind I know it screws up my "perfect" look.

Frowning, my mom wets a paper towel at the sink and dabs at the spot. It makes me feel like a two-year-old.

"Go upstairs and change."

"Mom, it was just peaches," I say, treading carefully so this doesn't turn into a full-blown yelling match. The last thing I want to do is make my sister feel bad.

"Peaches stain. You don't want people thinking you don't care about your appearence."

"Fine" I wish this was one of my mom's good days, the days she doesn't bug me about stuff.

I give my sister a kiss on the top of ehr head, making sure she doesn't think drool bothers me in the least. "I'll see ya after school," I say, attempting to keep the morning cheerful. "To finish our checker tournament."

I run back up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. When I get to my bedroom, I check my watch. Oh, no. It's ten after seven. My best friend, Selena, is going to freak out if I'm late picking her up. Grabbing a light blue scarf out of my closet, I pray it'll work. Maybe nobody will notcie the drool spot if I tie it just right.

When I come back down the stairs, my mother is standing in the foyer, scanning my appearence again. "Love the scarf.:

Phew.

As I pass her, she shoves the muffin into my hand. "Eat it on the way"

I take the muffin. Walking to my car, I absently bite into it. Unfortunately it isn't blueberry, my favorite. It's banana nut, and the bananas are overdone. It reminds me of myself -- seemingly perfect on the outside, but the inside is crap.

_**Joe**_

"Get up, Joe"

I scowl at my little brother and bury my head under my pillow. Since I share a room with my eleven- and fifteen-year-old brothers, there's no escape except the little privacy a lone pillow can give.

"Leave me alone, Frankie," I say roughly through the pillow. _"No estes chingando."_

"I'm not fuckin' with you. Mama told me to wake you so you won't be late for school."

Senior year. I should be proud I'll be the first family member in the Jonas household to graduate high school. But after graduation, real life will start. college is just a dream, Senior year fo rme is like a retirement party for sicty-five-year-old. You know you cn do more, but everyone expects you to quit.

"I'm all dressed in my new clothes," Frankie's proud but muffled voie comes through the pillow. "The _nenas_ won't be able to resist this Latino stud."

"Good for you," I mumble.

"Mama said I should pur this pitcher of water on you if you don't get up."

Was privacy too much to ask for? I take my pillow and chuck it across the room. It's a direct hit. The water splashes all over him.

_"Culero!" _he screams at me. "these are the only new clothes I got."

A fit of laughter is coming through the bedroom door. Nick, my other brother, is laughing like a frickin' hyena. That is, until Nick jumps him. I watch the fight spiral out of control as my younger brothers punch and kick each other.

_They're good fighters_, I think as I watch them duke it out. But as the oldest male in the house, it's my duty to break it up. I grab the collar of Frankie's shirt but trip on Nick's leg and land on the floor with them.

Before I can regain my balnce, icy cold water is pured on my back. Turning quickly, I catch_ Mi'ama _dousing us all, a bucket pised in her fist abouve us while she's wearing her work uniform. She works as a chekcer for the local grocery store a couple blocks from our house. It doesn't pay a whole heck of a lot, bu we don't need much.

"Get up," she orders, her fiery attitued out in full force.

"Shirt, Ma," Nick says, standing.

_Mi'ama _takes what's left in her buck, sticks her fingers in the icy water, and flicks the liquid in Nick's face.

Frankie laughs and before he knows it, he gets flicked with water as well. Will they ever learn?

"Any more attitude, Frankie?" she asks.

"No, ma'am," Frankie says, standing as straight as a soldier.

"You have any more filthy words to come out of that _boca_ of yours, Nick?" She dips her hand in the water as a warning.

"No, ma'am," exhoes soldier number two.

"And what about you, Joseph?" Her eyes narrow into slits as she focuses on me.

"What? I was tryin' to break it up," I say innocently, giving her my you-can't-resist-me smile.

She flicks water in my face. "That's for not breaking it up sooner. Now get dressed, all of you, and ocme eat breafast before school"

So much for my you-can't-resist-me smile. "You know you love us." I call after her as she leaves our room.

After a quick shower, I walk back to my bedroom with a towel wrapped around my waist. I catch sigh of Nick with one of my bandannas on his head and my gut tightens. I yank it off him. "Don't ever touch this, Frankie."

"Why not?" he asks, his deep brown eyes all innocent.

To Frankie, it's a bandanna. To me, it's a symbol of what is and will never be. How the hell am I supposed to explain it to an eleven-year-old kid? He knows what I am. It's no secret the bandanna has the Latino Blood colors on it. Payback and revenge got me in and now there's no way out. But I'll die before I let one of my brothers get sucked in.

I ball the bandanna in my first. "Frankie, don't touch my shit. Especially my Blood stuff."

"I like red and black."

That's the last thing I need to hear. "If I ever catch you wearin' it again, you'll be sportin' _black and blue_," I tell him. "Got it, little brother?"

He shrugs. "Yea. I got it."

As he leaves the room with a spring in his step, I wonder if he really does get it. I stop myself form thinking too heard aobut it as I grab a black T-shirt form my dresser and pull on worn, faded jeans. When I tie my bandanna around my head, I hear _mi'ama's_ voice bellwoing form the kitchen.

"Joseph, come eat before the food gets cold. _De prisa_, hurry up."

"I'm comin'," I call back. I'll never understand why food is such an important part of her life.

My brothers are already busy chowing down on their breakfast when I enter the kitchen. I open the refrigerator and sca its contents.

"Sit down."

"Ma, I'll just grab-"

"You'll grab nothing, Joesph. Sit. We're a family and we're going to eat like one"

I sigh, close the refrigerator, and sit beside Frankie. Sometimes being a member of a close family has its disadvantages. _Mi'ama _places a heaping plate of _huevos_ and _tortillas_ in front of me.

"Why can't you call me Joe?" I ask, my head down while I stare at the food in front of me.

"If I wanted to call you Joe, I wouldn't have bothered to name you Joseph. Don't you like your given name?"

My muscles tense. I was named after a father who is no longer alive, leaving me the responsibility of being the designated man of the house. Joseph, Joseph Jr, Junior... It's all the same to me.

"Would it matter?" I mumble as I pick up a tortilla. I look up, trying to gauge her reaction.

Her back is to me as she cleans dishes in the sink. "No."

"Joe wants to pretend he's white," Nick chimes in. "You can change your name, bro, but nobody'd mistake you for anythin' other than _Mexicano,"_

"Nick, _caillate la boca_," I warn. I don't want to be white. I just don't want to be associated with my father.

"_Por favor_, you two" our mother pleads. "enough fighting for one day."

"_Mojado_," Nick sings, egging me on by calling me a wetback.

I've had enough of Nick's mouth; he's gone too far. I stand, my chair scraping the floor. Nick follows and steps in front of me, closing the space between us. He knows I could kick his ass. His overblown ego is gonna get him in trouble with the wrong person one of these days.

"Nick, sit down," _mi'ama_ orders.

"Dirty beaner," Frankie drawls at me in a fake deep accent. "better yet, _es un Ganguero_."

"Nick!" _mi'ama_ reprimands sharply as she comes forward, but I get in between tehm and grab my borther's collar.

"Yea, that's all anyone will ever think of me," I tell him. "But you keep talkin' trash and they'll think that of you, too"

"Brother, they'll think that way of me anyway. Whether I want them to or not."

I release him. "You're wrong, Nick. You can do better, be better"

"Than you?"

"Yea better then me and you know it," I say. "Now apologize to _mi'ama_ for takin' smack in front of her."

One look in my eye sand Nick knows I'm nbot kidding around. "sorry, Ma," he says, then sits back down. I don't miss his glare though, as his ego got knocked down a peg.

_Mi'ama_ turns and opens the fridge, trying to hid her tears. Damn it, she's worried about Nick. He's a sophomore and the next two years are either going to make him or break him.

I pull on my balck leather jacket, needing to get out of here. I give _mi'ama_ a peck on the cheek with an apology for ruining her breakfast, then walk outside wondering how I'm going to keep Nick and Frankie away from my path while steering them toward a better one. Oh, the fucking irony of it all.

On the street, guys in the same color bandannas flag the Latino Blood signal: right hand tappin gtwice on their left arm while their ring finger is bent. My veins fire up as I flag right back before straddling my motorcycle. Tehy want a tough-as-nails gang member, they got one. I put on a hell of a show to the outside world; sometimes I even suprise myself.

"Joe, wait up," a familiar female vouce calls out.

Camille Bell, my neighbor and ex-girlfriend, runs up to me.

"He, Camille," I mutter.

"How about giving me a ride to school?"

Her short black skirt shows off her incredible legs, and her shirt is tight, accentuating her small but perky _chichis_. Once I would have done anything fo rher, but that was before I caught her in another guy's bed over the summer. Or car, as it was.

"Come on, Joe. I promise not to bite... unless you want me to."

Camille is my Latino Blood homegirl. Whether we're a couple or not, we still have each other's backs. TI's the code we live by. "Get on," I say.

Camille hops on my motorcycle and deliberately places her hands on my thighs whiel pressing against my backside. It doesn't have the effect she was probably hoping for. Waht does she think, that I'll forget the past? No way. My history defines who I am.

I try to focus on starting my senior year at Fairfield, the here and now. It's damn difficult because, unfortunately, after graduation my future will likely be as screwed up as my past.


	3. Chapter 2

**Brittany**

"My hair gets all frizzy in this car, Selena. Every time I put the top down, my ahir looks like I've walked through a tornado," I say to my best friend as I drive on Vine street toward Fairfield High in my new silver convertible.

"Outward appearances mean everything." My parents taught me the motto that rules my life.. It's the sole reason I didn't comment about the BMW when my dad gave me the extravagant birthday present two weeks ago.

"We live a half hour from the Windy City," Selena says, holding her hand in the wind as we drive. "Chicago isn't exactly known for its calm weather. Besides you look like a blond, Grecian goddess with wild hair, Miles. You're just nervous about seeing Justin again."

My gaze wanders to the heart-shaped picture of me and Justin taped to my dashboard. "A summer apart changes people."

"Distance makes the heart grow fonder," Selena throws back. "You're the captain of the pom squad and he's captain of the varsity football team. You two have to date or the solar system would go out of alignment."

Justin called a few times during the summer from his family's cabin, where he was hanging out with his buddies, but I don't know where our relationship stands now. He just got back last night.

"I love those jeans," Selena says, eyeing my faded Brazilian pants. "I'll be borrowing them before you know it."

"My mom hates them," I tell her, smoothing my hair at a stoplight trying to tame my brunette frizzies. "She says it looks like I got them at a used clothing store."

"Did you tell her vintage is in?"

"Yea, like she'd even listen. She was hardly paying attention when I asked her about the new caretaker."

No one understands what it's like at my house. Luckily, I have Selena. She might not understand, but she knows enough to listen adn keep my home life confidential. Besides Justin, Selena is the only one who's met my sister.

Selena flips open my CD case. "What happened to the last caretaker?"

"Demi pulled a chunk of her hair out."

"Ouch."

I drive into the high school parking lot with my mind more on my sister than on the road. My wheels screech to a stop when I almost hit a guy and girl on a motorcycle. I thought it was an empty parking space.

"Watch it, bitch," Camille Belle, the girl on the back of the motorcycle, says as she flips me the finger.

She obviously missed the Road Rage lecture in Driver's Ed.

"Sorry," I say loudly so I can be heard over the roar of the motorcycle. "It didn't look like anyone was in this spot."

Then I realize whose motorcycle I almsot hit. The driver turns around. Angry dark eyes. Red and black bandanna. I sink down into the driver's seat as far as I can.

"Oh, shit. It's Joe Jonas," I say, wincing.

"Jesus, Miles," Slena says, her voice low. "I'd like to live to see graduation. Get outta here before he decides to kill us both."

Joe is staring at me with his devil eyes while putting the kickstand down on his motorcyruce. Is he going to confront me?

I search for reverse, frantically moving the stick back and forth. Of course it's no surprise my dad bought me a cr with a stick shift without taking the time to teach me how to master driving this thing.

Joe takes a step toward my car. My instincts tell me to abandon the car and flee, as if I was stuck on railroad tracks with a train heading straight for me. I glance at Selena, who's desperately searching through her purse for something. Is she kidding me?

"I can't get this damn car in revers. I need help. What are you looking for?" I ask.

"Like...nothing. I'm trying not to make eye contact with those Latino Bloods. Get a move on, will ya?" Selena respnds through gritted teeth. "Besides, I only know how to drive an automatic."

Finally grinding into reverse, my wheels screech loud and ard as I maneuver backward and search for antoher parking spot.

After parking in the west lot, far from a ceratin gang member with a reputation that could scare off even the toughest Fairfield football players, Selena and I walk up the front steps of Fairfield High. Unfortunately, Joe Jonas and the rest of his gang friends are hanging by the front doors.

"Walk right past them," Selena mutters. "Whatever you do, don't look in their eyes."

It's pretty hard not to when Joe Jonas steps righ in front of me and blocks my path.

What's that prayer you're supposed to say right before you know you're going to die?

"You're a lousy driver," Joe says with his slight Latino accent and full-blown I-AM-THE-MAN stance.

The guy might look like an Abercrombie model with his ripped bod and flawless face, but his picture is more likely to be taken for a mug shot.

The kids from the north side don't really mix with the kids from the south side. It's not that we think we're better than them, we're just different. We've grown up in the same town, but on totally opposite sides. We live in big houses on Lake Michigan and they live next to the train tracks. We look, talk, act, and dress different. I'm not saying it's good or bad; it's just the way it is in Fairfield. And, to be honest, most for the south side girls treat me like Camille Belle does... they hate me because of who i am.

Or, rather, who they_ think _I am.

Joe's graze slowly moves down my body, traveling the lenth of me before moving back up. It's not the first time a guy has checked me out, it's just I never had a guy like Joe do it so blatantly... and so up-close. I can feel my face getting hot.

"Next time, watch where you're going'," he says, his voice cool and controlled.

He's trying to bully me. He's a pro at this. I won't let him get to me and win his little game of intimidation, even if my stomach feels like I'm doing one hundred cartwheels in a row. I square my shoulders and sneer at him, the same sneer I use to push people away. "Thanks for the tip."

"If you ever need a real man to teach you how to drive, I can give you lessons."

Catcalls and whistles from his buddies set my blood boiling.

"If you _were_ a real man, you'd open the door for me instead of blocking my way," I say, admiring my own comeback even as my knees threaten to buckle.

Joe steps back, pulls the door open, and bows like he's my butler. He's totally mocking me, he knows it and I know it. Everyone knows it. I catch a glimpse of Selena, still desperately searching for nothing in her purse. She's clueless.

"Get a life," I tell him.

"Like yours? Cabrona, let me tell you something'," Joe says harshly. "Your life isn't reality, it's fake. Just like you."

"It's better than living my life as a loser," I lash out, hoping my words sting as much as his words did. "Just like you."

Grabbing Selena's arm, I pull her toward the open door. Catcalls and comments follow us as we walk into the school.

I finally let out the breath I must have been holding, then turn to Selena.

My best friend is staring at me, all bug-eyed. "Holy shit, Miles! You got a death wish or something?"

"What give Joe Jonas the right to bully everyone in his path?"

"Uh, maybe the gun he has hidden in his pants or the gang colors he wears," Selena says, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"he's not stupid enough to carry a gun to school," I reason. "And I refuse to be bullied, by him or anyone else." AT school, at least. School is the one place i can keep up my "perfect" facade; everyone at school buys it. Suddenly pumped aobut starting my last year at Fairfield, I shake Selena's shoulders. "We're seniors now," I say with the same enthusiasm I use for pom-pom routines during football games.

"So?"

"So, starting right now everything is going to be p-e-r-f-e-c-t."

The bell rings, which is not exactly a bell because the student body voted last year to replace bells with music between classes. Right now they're playing "Summer Lovin' " from_ Grease_. Selena starts walking down the hall. "I'll make sure you ahve a p-e-r-f-e-c-t funeral. With flowers and everything."

"Who died?" a voice form behind me asks.

I turn around. It's Justin, dark hair lighter from the summer sun and a grin so large it takes up almost his whole face. I wish I had a mirrir to see if my makeup is smudged. But surely Justin will date me even if it is, won't he? I run up and give him the biggest hug.

He holds me tight, kisses me lightly on the lips, and pulls back. "Who died?" he says asking again.

"Nobody," I answer. "Forget about ti. Forget everything except being with me."

"It's easy when you look so damn hot." Justin kisses me again. "Sorry I haven't called. It's been so crazy unpacking and everything."

I smile up at him, glad our summer apart hasn't changed our relationship. The solar system is safe, at least for now.

Justin drapes his arm around my shoulders at the front doors to the school open. Joe and his friends burst through as if they're here to highjack the school.

"Why do they even come to school?" Justin mutters low so only I can hear. "Half of them'll probably drop out before the year is over, anyway."

My gaze briefly meets Joe's and a shiver runs down my spine.

"I almost his Joe Jonas's motorcycle this morning," I tell Justin once Joe is out of hearing range.

"You should have."

"Justin," I chide.

"At least it would have been an exciting first day. This school is boring as shit."

Boring? I almost got in a car accident, was flipped off by a girl from the south side, and was harassed by a dangerous gang member outside the school's front doors. If that was any indication of the rest of senior year, this school will be anything _but_ boring.

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Please review you guys, :) and thank you too everyone who reads this.


	4. Chapter 3

**Sorry this one is so short and that I took so long. I'm already working on the next one.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the people or story idea. All rights go to the owners not claiming it as mine**

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**Alex**

I knew I'd be called into the new principal's office at some point during the year, but I didn't expect it to be on the first day of school. I heard Dr. Aguirre was hired because of his hard-ass personality at some high school in Milwaukee. Someone must have pegged me as a ringleader, 'cause it's my ass sitting here instead of another Latino Blood's.

So here I am, pulled out of gym so Aguirre can puff me up his chest and ramble on about tougher school rules. I detect him feeling me out, wondering how I'll react, as he threatens, "...and this year I've hired two full-time armed security guards, Joseph."

His eyes focus on me, trying to intimidate. Yea, right. I can tell right right off that while Aguirre might be Latino, he knows nothing about how our streets work. The next thing I know he'll be talkinga bout how he grew up poor, just like me. He's probably never even driven through my side of town. Maybe I should offer to give him a tour.

He stands in front of me. "I promised the superintendent as well as the school board I'd personally be responsible for rooting out the violence that has plagued this school for years. I won't hesitate to suspend anyone who ignores school rules."

I haven't done anything besides have a little fun with the pom-pom diva and already this guy is talking suspension. Maybe he heard about my suspension last year. That little incident got me kicked out for three days. It' wasn't my fault... entirely. Paco had this crazy theor about cold water affecting white guys' dicks differently than Latinos'. I was arguing with him in the boiler room after he'd shut down the hot water heaters when we were caught.

I had nothing to do with it but got blamed all the same. Paco attempted to tell the truth, but our old principal wouldn't listen. Maybe if I fought more he would have listened. But what's the use in fighting for a lost cause?

It's clear Brittany Ellis is responsible for me being in here today. You think her jerk of a boyfriend'll ever get called into Aguirre's office? No way. The dude is an idolized football player. He can ditch class and start fights and Aguirre will probably still kiss his ass. Colin Adams is always pushing me, knowing he can get away with it. Every time I've been about to retaliate, he's found a way to escape or rush to where teachers were in abundance... teachers who were just waiting for me to fuck up.

One of these days...

I look up at Aguirre. "i'm not startin' any fights." I might finish one, though.

"That's good," Aguirre says. "But I heard about you harassing a female student in the parking lot today."

Almost getting run over by Brittan Ellis's new Beemer is _my_ fault? For the past three years I've managed to avoid the rich bitch. I heard last year she got a C on her report card but a little call to the school from her parents got it changed to an A.

_It would hurt her chances of getting into a good college._

Screw that shit. If I got a C, _mi"ama _would smack me upside the head and nag me to study twice as ahrd. I've worked my ass off to get good grades, even though I've gotten interrogated more often than not about my means of getting the answers. As if I'd cheat. it's not about getting into college. It's about proving I _could_ get in... if my world was different.

The south siders might be seen as dumber than the noth siders, but that's bullshit. So we're not as rich or obsessed with material possessions or getting into the most expensive and prestigious universities. We're in survival mode most of the time, always having to watch our backs.

Probably the hardes part of Brittany Ellis's life is deciding which restaurant to dine at each night. The girl uses her smokn' bod to manipulate everyone who comes in contact with her.

"Care to shar with me what happened in the parking lot? I'd liek to hear your side," Aguirre says.

Not happening. I learned long ago that my side doesn't matter. "The thing this mornin'... was a total misunderstandin'," I tell him. _Brittany Ellis's misunderstanding tha ttwo vehicles can't fit in one spot._

Aguirre stands and leans over his polished, spotlles desk. "Let's try not making misunderstandings a habit, oky, Alejandro?"

"Alex."

"Huh?"

"I go by Alex," I say. What he knows about me is in my school file, a file so biased it's probably ten inches thick.

Aguirre gives me a nod. "All right, Alex. Get ready for sicth period. But I have eyes at this school, and I'm watching your every move. I don't want to see you back in my office." Just as I get up, he puts a hand on my shoulder. "Just so you know, my goal is for every student in this school to succeed. _Every_ student, Alex. Including you , so whatever biases you ahve about me you can throw them out the window. _Me entiendes?"_

"_Si. Entiendo_," I say, wondering how much I can believe him. In the hallway, a sea of students are rushing ot their next class. I have no clue where I'm supposed to be and I'm still in my gym clotehs.

In the locker room after I change, a song plays on the loudspeaker indicating it's now sixth period. I pull the schedule out of my back pocket. Chemistry with Mrs. Peterson. Great, another hard-ass to deal with.


	5. Chapter 4

**Sorry this one is so short and that I took so long. I'm changing Justin's character to Liam. I'm already working on the next one.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the people or story idea. All rights go to the owners not claiming it as mine**

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**Joe**

I knew I'd be called into the new principal's office at some point during the year, but I didn't expect it to be on the first day of school. I heard Dr. Aguirre was hired because of his hard-ass personality at some high school in Milwaukee. Someone must have pegged me as a ringleader, 'cause it's my ass sitting here instead of another Latino Blood's.

So here I am, pulled out of gym so Aguirre can puff me up his chest and ramble on about tougher school rules. I detect him feeling me out, wondering how I'll react, as he threatens, "...and this year I've hired two full-time armed security guards, Joseph."

His eyes focus on me, trying to intimidate. Yea, right. I can tell right right off that while Aguirre might be Latino, he knows nothing about how our streets work. The next thing I know he'll be talkinga bout how he grew up poor, just like me. He's probably never even driven through my side of town. Maybe I should offer to give him a tour.

He stands in front of me. "I promised the superintendent as well as the school board I'd personally be responsible for rooting out the violence that has plagued this school for years. I won't hesitate to suspend anyone who ignores school rules."

I haven't done anything besides have a little fun with the pom-pom diva and already this guy is talking suspension. Maybe he heard about my suspension last year. That little incident got me kicked out for three days. It' wasn't my fault... entirely. Paco had this crazy theor about cold water affecting white guys' dicks differently than Latinos'. I was arguing with him in the boiler room after he'd shut down the hot water heaters when we were caught.

I had nothing to do with it but got blamed all the same. Paco attempted to tell the truth, but our old principal wouldn't listen. Maybe if I fought more he would have listened. But what's the use in fighting for a lost cause?

It's clear Brittany Ellis is responsible for me being in here today. You think her jerk of a boyfriend'll ever get called into Aguirre's office? No way. The dude is an idolized football player. He can ditch class and start fights and Aguirre will probably still kiss his ass. Colin Adams is always pushing me, knowing he can get away with it. Every time I've been about to retaliate, he's found a way to escape or rush to where teachers were in abundance... teachers who were just waiting for me to fuck up.

One of these days...

I look up at Aguirre. "i'm not startin' any fights." I might finish one, though.

"That's good," Aguirre says. "But I heard about you harassing a female student in the parking lot today."

Almost getting run over by Brittan Ellis's new Beemer is _my_ fault? For the past three years I've managed to avoid the rich bitch. I heard last year she got a C on her report card but a little call to the school from her parents got it changed to an A.

_It would hurt her chances of getting into a good college._

Screw that shit. If I got a C, _mi"ama _would smack me upside the head and nag me to study twice as ahrd. I've worked my ass off to get good grades, even though I've gotten interrogated more often than not about my means of getting the answers. As if I'd cheat. it's not about getting into college. It's about proving I _could_ get in... if my world was different.

The south siders might be seen as dumber than the noth siders, but that's bullshit. So we're not as rich or obsessed with material possessions or getting into the most expensive and prestigious universities. We're in survival mode most of the time, always having to watch our backs.

Probably the hardes part of Brittany Ellis's life is deciding which restaurant to dine at each night. The girl uses her smokn' bod to manipulate everyone who comes in contact with her.

"Care to shar with me what happened in the parking lot? I'd liek to hear your side," Aguirre says.

Not happening. I learned long ago that my side doesn't matter. "The thing this mornin'... was a total misunderstandin'," I tell him. _Brittany Ellis's misunderstanding tha ttwo vehicles can't fit in one spot._

Aguirre stands and leans over his polished, spotlles desk. "Let's try not making misunderstandings a habit, okay, Alejandro?"

"Alex."

"Huh?"

"I go by Alex," I say. What he knows about me is in my school file, a file so biased it's probably ten inches thick.

Aguirre gives me a nod. "All right, Alex. Get ready for sicth period. But I have eyes at this school, and I'm watching your every move. I don't want to see you back in my office." Just as I get up, he puts a hand on my shoulder. "Just so you know, my goal is for every student in this school to succeed. _Every_ student, Alex. Including you , so whatever biases you ahve about me you can throw them out the window. _Me entiendes?"_

"_Si. Entiendo_," I say, wondering how much I can believe him. In the hallway, a sea of students are rushing ot their next class. I have no clue where I'm supposed to be and I'm still in my gym clotehs.

In the locker room after I change, a song plays on the loudspeaker indicating it's now sixth period. I pull the schedule out of my back pocket. Chemistry with Mrs. Peterson. Great, another hard-ass to deal with.

**Miley**

I turn on my cell and call home before chemistry to see how my sister is doing. Baghda isn't too happy because Demi was freaking out about the way her lunch tasted. Apparently Demi swiped her bowl of yogurt onto the floor in protest.

Was it oo much to hope that my mom would take a day off from hanging at the country club to transition Baghda? Summer is officially over and I can't be there to pick up where the caretakers usually leave off.

I should be focusing on school. Getting into my dad's alma mater, Northwestern, is my main goal so I can go to a college close to home and be there for my sister. After giving Baghda some suggestions I take a deep breath, paste on a smile, and walk into class.

"Hey, babe. I saved you a seat." Liam motions to the stool next to him.

The room is arranged with rows of high lab tables for two. This means I'll sit next to Liam for the rest of the year and we'll do the dreaded senior chemistry project together. Feeling foolish for thinking things wouldn't be okay between us, I slip onto the stool and pull out my heavy chem book.

"Hey, look. Jonas is in our class!" a guy calls out from the back of the room. "Joe, over here, _ven pa'ca_."

I try not to stare as Joe greets his friends with pats on the back and handshakes too complicated to reproduce. They all say "ese" to each other, whatever that means. Joe's presence catches every eye in the classroom.

"I hear he was arrested last weekend for possession of meth," Liam whispers to me.

"No way."

He nods and his eyebrows go up. "Way."

Well, the information shouldn't suprise me. I hear most weekends Joe spends drugged out, passed out, or doing some other illegal activity.

Mrs. Peterson closes the door to the classroom with a band and all eyes move from the back of the room, where Joe and his friends are sitting, to the front where Mrs. Peterson is standing. She has light brown hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. The woman is probably in her late twenties, but her glasses and perpetual stern expression make her look way older. I hear she's tough now because her first year teaching the students made her cry. They didn't respect a teacher who was young enough to be theri older sister.

"Good afternoon and welcome to senior chemistry." She sits on the edge of her desk and opens a folder. "I appreciate you picking your own seats, but I make the seating arrangements... alphabetically."

I groan along with the rest of the class, but Mrs. Peterson doesn't miss a beat. She stands in front of the first lab table an says, "Liam Adams, take the first seat. Your partner is Vanessa Hudgens."

Vanessa Hudgens is co-captain of the varsity pom squad with me. She flashes me an apologetic look as she slides onto the stool next to my boyfriend.

Down the list Mrs. Peterson goes, students reluctantly moving to their assigned seats.

"Miley Cyrus," Mrs. Peterson says, pointing to the table behind Liam. I unenthusiastically sit on the stool at my assigned place.

"Joeseph Jonas," Mrs. Peterson says, pointing to the stool next to me.

_Oh my God. Joe... my chemistry partner? For my entire senior year! No way, now how, SO not okay_. I give Liam a "help me" look as I try to avoid a panic attack. I definitely should have stayed at home. In bed. Under the covers. Forget not being intimidated.

"Call me Joe."

Mrs. Peterson looks up from her class list and regards Joe above the glasses on her nose, "_Joe_ Jonas," she says, before changing his name on her list. "Mr. Jonas, take off that bandanna. I have a zero tolerance policy in my class. No gang-related accessories are allowed to enter this room. Unfortunately, Joe, your reputation precedes you. Dr. Aguirre backs my zero tolerance policy one hundred percent... do I make myself clear?"

Joe stares her down before sliding the bandanna off his head, exposing raven hair that matches his eyes.

"It's to cover up the lice," Liam mutters to Vanessa, but I hear him and Joe does, too.

"_Veta a la verga_," Joe says to Liam, his hard eyes blazing. "_Cállate el hocico_."

"Whatever, ded," Liam says, then turns around. "He can't even speak English."

"That's enough, Liam. Joe, sit down." Mrs. Peterson eyes on the rest of the class. "That goes for the rest of you, as well. I can't control what you do outside of this room, but in my class I'm the boss." She turns back to Joe. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Si, señora," Joe says, deliberately slow.

Mrs. Peterson goes down the rest of the list while I do everything in my power not to make eye contact with the guy sitting next to me. It's too bad I left my purse in my locker or I could pretend to look for nothing like Selena did this morning.

"This sucks," Joe mumbles to himself. His voice is dark and husky. Does he make it that way on purpose?

How am I going to explain to my mother I have to partner with Joe Jonas? Oh, God, I hope she doesn't blame me somehow for screwing this up.

I glance at my boyfriend, deep in conversation with Vanessa. I'm so jealous. Why couldn't my last name be Allis instead of Ellis so I could sit next to him?

It'd be cool if God gave everyone a Do Over Day and you could yell "Do Over!" and the day would start new. This would definitely qualify for a DOD.

Does Mrs. Peterson acutally think it's reasonable to pair the captain of the pom-pom squad with the most dangerous guy in school? The woman is delusional.

Mrs. Delusional finally finishes assigning seats. "I know you seniors think you know everything. But never think of yourself as a success until you can help treat diseases that plague mankind or make the earth a safer place to live. The field of chemistry plays a crucial role in developing medicines, radiation treatments for cancer patients, petroleum uses, the ozone-"

Joe raises his hand.

"Joe," the teacher says. "Do you have a question?"

"Uh, Mrs. Peterson, are you sayin' the president of the U.S. isn't a success?"

"What I'm saying is... money and status aren't everything. Use your brain and do something for mankind or the planet you live on. Then you're a success. And you'll have earned my respect, which not many people in this world can boast about."

"I got things I can boast about, Mrs.P.," Joe says, obviously amusing himself.

Mrs Peterson holds up a hand. "Please spare us the details, Joe."

I shake my head. If Joe thinks antagonizing the teacher will get us a good grade, he's sadly mistaken. It's obvious Mrs. Peterson doesn't like smart-asses and my partner is alrady on her radar.

"Now," Mrs. Delusional says, "look at the person sitting next to you."

_Anything but that_. But I don't have a choice. I glance over at Liam again, who seems pretty content wiht his assigned partner. Vanessa already has a boyfriend or I seriously would be questioning why she's leaning a bit too close to Liam and flipping her hair back too many times. I tell myself I'm being paranoid.

"You don't have to liek yoru partner," Mrs. Peterson says, "but you're stuck together for the next ten months. Take five minutes to get to know each other, then each of you will introduce your partner to the class. Talk aobut what you did over the summer, what hobbies you have, or anything else interesting or unique your classmates might not know about you. Your five mintues start now."

I take out my notebook, flip to the first page, and shove it at Joe. "Why don't you write down stuff about yourself in my notebook and I'll do the same in yours." It's better than trying to have a conversation with him.

Joe nods in agreement, although I think I caught the corners of his mouth twitch as he hands me his notebook. Did I imagine that twitch or did it really happen? Taking a deep breath, I wipe that thought from my mind and write diligently until Mrs. Peterson instructs us to stop and listen to each other's introductions.

"This is Vanessa Hudgens," Liam begins, being the first to speak.

But I don't hear the rest of Liam's speech about Vanessa and her tip to Italy and her experience at dance camp this summer. Instead, I glance down at the noebook given back to me by Joe and stare at the words on the page with my mouth open.

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**What do you think it said on the paper? Please review**

**and once again sorry for the wait.**


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